


underneath the tree

by katertots



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katertots/pseuds/katertots
Summary: Being charmed by Sylvie Brett isn’t a new experience.Matt’s pretty much been charmed by her in some capacity since the moment they met. Long before they were truly friends; years before they became a couple. Sylvie on Christmas Eve at her parents’ house, however, is a whole new level of charming he didn’t even know existed.It’s a good thing, too, because she’d dropped a bomb on him as he pulled his truck into the driveway of her childhood home where they’d be spending the next three days for Christmas.My parents don’t know we’re living together.Then she’d instructed him to keep that to himself until she could tell them after the holidays,please and thanks.But before that could even become a thing, Sylvie had leaned across the cab, the apology written all over her angelic face, kissed the breath from his lungs, then followed up with a whispered promise to make it up to him later.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 38
Kudos: 136





	underneath the tree

**Author's Note:**

> At one point, maybe late last year or early this year - Who can honestly remember? 2020 amirite? - I asked for prompts on my Tumblr (dopemixtape) and I started working on this. But I procrastinated so long (thanks, writer's block) that it has now come around just in time to be seasonally appropriate. It has been so long, however, that I can't find the post. I searched for 10 minutes, but it's Thanksgiving and I have cooking to do. 
> 
> Anyway...this is a Christmas fic that is full of fluff and smut. If you're into those things, hooray! Keep reading! If that's not your jam, hit the back button. 
> 
> Many thanks to my dear friend angellwings for being a sounding board and awesome cheerleader while I wrote this!

***

_Tonight, I'm gonna hold you close_

_Make sure that you know_

_I was lost before you_

_Christmas was cold and grey_

_Another holiday_

_Alone to celebrate_

_But then, one day, everything changed_

_You're all I need_

_Underneath the tree_

-“Underneath the Tree” by Kelly Clarkson

***

Being charmed by Sylvie Brett isn’t a new experience. 

Matt’s pretty much been charmed by her in some capacity since the moment they met. Long before they were truly friends; years before they became a couple. Sylvie on Christmas Eve at her parents’ house, however, is a whole new level of charming he didn’t even know existed. 

It’s a good thing, too, because she’d dropped a bomb on him as he pulled his truck into the driveway of her childhood home where they’d be spending the next three days for Christmas. _My parents don’t know we’re living together._ Then she’d instructed him to keep that to himself until she could tell them after the holidays, _please and thanks_. But before that could even become _a thing,_ Sylvie had leaned across the cab, the apology written all over her angelic face, kissed the breath from his lungs, then followed up with a whispered promise to make it up to him later.

So now he’s sitting at one end of the large sectional sofa in the living room of the Brett family farmhouse, watching with rapt amusement as Sylvie buzzes around the room in her ugly Christmas sweater playing elf. Happiness radiates off her in waves while she passes out the identically wrapped Christmas Eve presents to everyone in the room. Her Christmas Cheer®️ is contagious and Matt can’t help but let a little of that rub off on him. As though picking up on his brainwaves, she glances over after handing her Nana a box and gifts him with a smile brighter than all the lights on the tree. A slow smile of his own breaks across his face and he lifts the mug of spiked hot cider Sylvie’s dad had handed him earlier. _Jesus fuck! Hank Brett has a heavy pour!_ It burns all the way down.

“I should’ve warned you,” Sylvie murmurs, a knowing smirk on her beautiful mouth as she approaches. “That stuff will put hair on your ass.” Giggling, she sets a pristinely wrapped box in his lap and gives him a wink. “For you.” 

The warmth inside his chest now has nothing to do with the whiskey-laced cider and everything to do with Sylvie. Her family, too, the way they’ve folded him seamlessly into the mix, going above and beyond to make him feel welcome. Like he belongs.

Though he’s discovered there _is_ a limit to that welcome. Nearly the second after they’d arrived this afternoon, Sylvie’s mom, Sarah, had shown him up to the spare room in the attic where he’d be sleeping. _I’m so sorry, Matt. It’s all the room we have left._

Whatever Sylvie’s planning to make it up to him will be gladly accepted. 

Once she finishes distributing the gifts, she plops down beside him, tucking her sock-covered feet up underneath her on the couch and snuggling into his side. Sylvie turns to prop her chin on his shoulder. "You really don’t have to drink that," she teases, her breath tickling his cheek. “It’s terrible.”

Yeah, right. He’s only met her parents twice before today, and now he’s a guest in their home. It feels rude not to drink it. They’re terrific people whose approval means a lot to him as well as to Sylvie—he wants to make a good impression, okay? Not to mention he’s keeping the secret that he’s shacking up with their daughter while they sleep in separate rooms under this roof. He supposes the separate rooms help Hank and Sarah maintain the illusion that he and Sylvie don’t fuck on the regular. Besides, he can handle some whiskey now that he knows what he’s in for. “It’s not terrible,” he replies. “Just caught me off guard.” 

Sylvie’s answering _hmm_ indicates she thinks he’s full of it, but that’s alright. She kisses his cheek and whispers, “Everybody loves you. Especially my Nana.” 

Grinning, Matt leans down, pressing his lips against the shell of her ear. “I gathered. The way she felt up my biceps at dinner was a dead giveaway.” 

She snorts out a muted laugh. “Can’t say I blame her.” Twining her fingers through his, she gives them a gentle squeeze. “Open your present.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, casting curious eyes around the room and sees a warm, friendly smile on Sylvie’s mom’s face. 

“Guests first, Matt, please. Get us started,” Sarah tells him.

Now all eyes in the room are focused on him, which feels a bit disconcerting if he’s being honest. Like he’s an animal at the zoo. Holidays in his family were never that big of a deal. Present opening was usually a free-for-all for the few they did receive. No one stopped and focused all their attention on one person. 

Sylvie pats his knee affectionately, and he sets his mug down on the end table beside him before picking up the package sitting on his lap. It’s wrapped in brown craft paper, tied with red and green ribbon, his name written in looping calligraphy on the tag he recognizes as Sylvie’s handiwork. He opens this present the same way he’s opened presents his entire life, starting by gently pulling the ribbon off first. Then he slides a finger under the seam to carefully peel the taped paper apart. 

Inside the box is a black t-shirt emblazoned with _Sleigh All Day_ on the chest and a pair of red and black buffalo check flannel pants. Christmas pajamas. He chuckles at the shirt and holds it up for everyone to see. He’s willing to bet that everyone in the room has pajamas waiting to be unwrapped, too. “This is great! Thank you!” 

“Christmas Eve pajamas are a family tradition,” Sylvie informs him, nudging her knee against his. “Now you’re one of us!” Matt angles his head to look at her, takes in the bright smile on her face and the love shining in her eyes. Feeling warmth unfurl in his chest again, Matt swallows around the lump in his throat as he falls a little deeper in love with her. It shouldn’t be possible, he thinks, loving her more than he already does. But she has a knack for making the impossible happen.

He likes being part of a family again. 

Especially when that family is with Sylvie. 

***

Sylvie swans into the bathroom while he’s at the sink brushing his teeth. Standing at his back, she wraps her arms around his waist and rests her chin on his shoulder, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You look really cute in your jammies,” she grins, turning slightly to press a chaste kiss to the hinge of his jaw. 

Matt playfully rolls his eyes but smiles around his toothbrush. “You, too,” he manages without spitting toothpaste everywhere. 

They’re not a carbon copy, their pajamas, though pretty darn close. Sylvie’s pants are the same print, but in that jogger style she likes so well, and her shirt is a long sleeve thermal instead of a slogan t-shirt. Fitting, since she tends to run cold. 

Once all the boxes had been opened, her mom had insisted on a photo of everyone crowded around the tree in their pajamas—another Christmas Eve tradition he’d quickly learned. Matt had offered to take the picture, but exactly no one in the family was having that. So he’d wound up on the floor, Sylvie sitting between his legs, smiling for the annual Brett family Christmas photo. 

She unwinds her arms from his middle to grab her own toothbrush, casting apologetic eyes his way. “I’m sorry you have to sleep in the attic.” 

Matt finishes brushing and rinses his mouth. “It’s alright,” he assures, resting a hand on her hip. And it is. Honestly. It’s not going to kill him to sleep up there for two nights without her. 

“You’re not mad at me for asking you to keep this secret from my parents?” she asks nervously before popping the toothbrush in her mouth, worry reflecting in her eyes.

He shakes his head as he moves to stand behind her and mimic her previous pose, hands settling on her hips. “No, I’m not mad,” he murmurs softly, kissing the top of her head. And he’s not. It’s only been a few weeks since they moved in together, so it’s not like she’s been keeping this a secret for ages. “I understand why you’d want to keep a lid on it during Christmas.” Relief sweeps across her face and she gives him an adorably lopsided smile around her toothbrush. “Just promise me you’ll tell them soon.” 

Sylvie nods and draws an X over heart. “Promise,” she mutters before spitting out her toothpaste. 

“C’mon,” she says once she’s finished, and holds out her hand. “I’ll walk you to your door and kiss you goodnight.” 

A rakish grin steals across his face as he laces his fingers with hers. “Better make it a good one.” 

***

The attic bedroom is nowhere near as bad as it sounded upon arrival. Actually, it’s cozy and nice now that he’s up here. It’s a semi-finished space that’s neat and tidy, furnished with a comfortable bed. Hell, it’s even decorated for Christmas with a small tree in the corner and strands of white lights around the window. It’s evident that the Bretts take great pride in their home and extend that care to guests. Still, all things considered, he’d much rather be cozied up next to Sylvie in her room downstairs. Other than being on shift, he hasn’t spent a night without her in longer than he can remember. 

Matt puts his phone on the nightstand along with the blue light-blocking reading glasses Sylvie had politely insisted that he start wearing. He’d grumbled about them at first, but quickly noticed less eye strain and headaches at the end of the day, especially after hours of reports on shift. So, he’d conceded that she was right, and to her credit she wasn’t the least bit smug about it. 

Not yet tired enough for sleep, he readjusts his pillow and stares up at the beamed ceiling for a while, listening to the howling wind outside and the irregular tapping of a tree branch against the window. There’s an odd creaking sound from somewhere across the attic that he attributes to a settling old house, but accompanying soft footfalls on the stairs and the familiar scent of Sylvie’s perfume wafting into the room announces her presence. 

Leaning up on his elbows, he takes in the sight of her, a faded, old quilt wrapped around her shoulders, moving cautiously through the room as though well-practiced at avoiding the particularly creaky floorboards. 

“Hi,” she whispers once she reaches the foot of his bed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

God, she’s cute. Amused, Matt’s lips twitch into a half smile. “Hi,” he whispers back. “Whatcha doin’?”

Sylvie shrugs, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.” 

She’s a shit liar. He knows exactly why she’s here. It’s written all over her face. “You came here to warm up those icy mitts of yours,” he teases. “Admit it!”

Her attempt to appear indignant, even for a brief moment, fails in every conceivable way. She’s busted and knows it. With a contrite smile and a half-hearted shrug, she skirts around the end of the bed. “Guilty,” she says. 

Matt huffs out a laugh and scoots over to make room on the full-size mattress, peeling back the covers for her. She drops her to quilt the floor, quickly climbing into bed next to him. He pulls the blankets up over their bodies. “Brace for impact,” she warns, resting one freezing hand on his bare chest. 

“Fuck!” he whispers, sucking in a harsh breath between his teeth as he snugs her closer. Sylvie's answering giggle fans out against his shoulder. 

She slides one leg between his and burrows closer. It’s nice having her snuggled up beside him, just like he’s used to. That is until she murmurs _sorry about this_ and places her other frigid hand on his inner thigh. 

His body jolts against the cold, a shiver running up his back. “Swear to god, woman!” he mutters, hooking his hand behind her knee to pull her on top of him. She laughs quietly as he settles her between his legs, adjusting their bodies until they’re both comfortable. Sylvie tips her head back to grin down at him, and Matt catches a mirthful gleam in her eye. “You’re lucky I love you so much to put up with this nightly torture.” 

Sylvie cards both hands gently through his hair and smiles affectionately. “I’m very lucky. It’s true. At least I kept my socks on tonight and spared you my foot glaciers!”

“The stuff of Christmas miracles,” he deadpans, sliding his hands down around her ass and giving it a playful squeeze. She wriggles pleasantly against him, which sends the blood in his brain south. If they were at home, he’d lean into it, warm her up the way she likes best until they’re both sweaty and spent beneath the sheets. But they’re not. Hell, they’re not even supposed to be in the same room right now. So Matt wills his dick to stand down and glides his hands up to a safer spot on the small of her back.

Sylvie nestles down and buries her face into the crook between his neck and shoulder, doing what she affectionately calls _cocooning in his warmth_. “You like it, quit pretending you don’t,” she says as Matt folds his arms around her back. His grunt is noncommittal at best. It’s a routine, this thing they do. 

Truth be told, he doesn’t mind at all. 

(At least not once her hands thaw out.)

They lay like that for a while, just quietly wrapped up in the dark. Maybe it’s a few minutes, or maybe half an hour. Matt’s not sure. The holiday busyness of the day catches up to him and the tug of sleep threatens to pull him under. He knows he should send her back to her room before they both fall asleep. It doesn’t matter that he thinks her parents’ rule of “no bed sharing ‘til marriage” is stupid; he’s still going to abide by it. 

Sylvie, it seems, has other plans. Stirring against him, she presses a lingering kiss to his collarbone, followed by a trail of slow, lingering kisses up his neck. “What are you doing?” he whispers, as she catches his earlobe gently between her teeth. His head may want to follow house rules, but his body could give a fuck less about such things.

He feels her smile against his skin.“You’re a smart guy,” she purrs into his ear, shifting her thighs down around his hips to straddle him. “What does it feel like I’m doing?”

Matt groans and slides his hands down to grip her hips, rolling his own once to feel the friction against him. He’s more than half hard already. “Like you’re tryin’ to start something we can’t finish.”

Pushing herself up, she brackets his head with her arms on either side of his pillow. “Who says we can’t finish?” she asks, casting down a sexy grin that is fully shameless.

She’s trying to kill him. It’s the only explanation. “Uh—your parents put us in separate bedrooms. I think that’s pretty clear.” 

Sylvie drops her head until her mouth is teasingly close to his. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” she whispers, her breath tickling his bottom lip. 

Christ, she’s tempting tonight. Okay, most nights. If he’s being honest, it’s not like she ever has to try for him to be in the mood to have sex with her. But the forbidden aspect of the whole thing right now has the dial turned up a few notches. It would be so easy to succumb to her charms, to give in and get each other off. 

There’s just one problem. 

“You can’t be quiet.” 

Lifting her head, she narrows her eyes playfully. “Yes, I can.”

Matt smirks, thinking about how she’d practically screamed the walls of their house down the other night when they got back from Molly’s and she rode him for all he was worth in the middle of the living room floor. Hell, he’s still got the rug burn on his ass to prove it. This line of thinking is doing less than zero to tame the boner situation he’s got going on, nor is it helping him maintain the tenuous grasp on his willpower. 

As though can read his mind, she catches her bottom lip between her teeth, smirking around it. “Hey, I had tequila that night, okay? And you got me all worked up on the ride home with dirty talk and your hand between my legs.” To accent her point, she rocks her hips slowly back and forth once, twice, then a third time, until blood thumps loudly in his ears. “C’mon, Matt. Let me make you feel good.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, squeezing her ass firmly with both hands and bucks his hips as the last string of his fraying willpower snaps in two. “Yes. Okay. Yes. _Fuck._ But it will suck a whole damn lot if we get caught and your dad shoots my dick off.”

A low, breathy chuckle slips past her lips, her smile nothing short of victorious. “I’ll protect you,” she promises before lowering her head to _finally_ kiss him on the mouth. 

Matt cups the back of her head while they trade soft kisses, tangling his fingers into her silky hair once the kissing turns deeper, messier. He could spend ages just kissing her—hands roaming, skin heating, tongues brushing, mouths sliding—but an abundance of time isn’t something they have the luxury of tonight. He reaches for the hem of her shirt to move them along, to get his hands on her skin, but Sylvie pulls back, just out of reach, gently shaking her head to stop him. “I’m in control tonight. Copy?”

 _Goddamn_ he loves when she gets bossy in bed like this. It usually happens if they’ve had a tough shift and need to fuck it out of their systems to feel settled. Other times, like tonight it seems, is about the other person’s pleasure. “Copy,” he answers, a little breathless. 

Sylvie’s mouth wanders then, blazing a path of long, open-mouthed kisses down his neck, over the dips and curves of his chest. Her tongue darts out to flick one nipple into a tight peak while teasing the other with the pad of her thumb. Crawling down his body and pulling the blankets off in her wake, Matt relishes the sensation of the cool air hitting his already too-warm skin. 

Dizzy with anticipation, he watches intently as she glides her hands along his ribs, making a memory of the way her fingertips map every muscle and bone, kissing her way south over the planes of his stomach. The moment she reaches the waistband of his boxer briefs, she stops, her eyes flicking up to meet his. His hips jerk embarrassingly for her to continue. She smiles then, a full on sex-kitten grin that makes him crazy. “Still with me?” she asks like she doesn’t damn well already know the answer.

His response catches in his throat on the way out, a moan twisted around her name. He thinks maybe she reminds him to be quiet with a _shh_. However, it’s hard to form coherent thoughts the moment her slender, sure fingers begin stroking the length of him over his boxers, while her other hand glides up his thigh, fingernails gently scoring through the hair on his leg. 

Then Sylvie lowers her head and mouths the tip of him through the cotton. Matt sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, fighting to keep quiet. His girl does nothing in half measures, so he knows the slow, deliberate way she’s kissing his length is about teasing him to the brink of insanity. How wonderful it is to have someone who knows your wants and needs so well. 

When he can’t take it anymore, Matt pushes up on his elbows and stares helplessly at her. “Sylvie _please_ ,” he whispers brokenly, just this side of begging and not giving a good damn about it. He’s so hard, painfully so, straining against the fabric of his underwear. He needs her mercy now. Needs to feel her hot mouth gliding over bare skin. 

Sylvie nods, a little breathless herself, and reaches for the waistband. “Help me take these off.” It’s an uncoordinated shuffle between them, getting so completely twisted up in the sheets in the process they have to get out of the bed. Matt grumbles in frustration while Sylvie giggles. He can’t blame her, really. What a ridiculous scene this has turned into! Besides, he thinks that if you can’t laugh sometimes while you’re having sex, you’re in the wrong relationship. 

They finally manage to escape the tangle of blankets and free him of his underwear. Standing at the foot of the bed, Matt’s hands itch to reach for Sylvie, to pull her close and regain a bit of the footing they lost. But he reminds himself that she’s in control tonight. There’s something unbelievably sexy in the imbalance of power between them right now: Sylvie still fully clothed, calling the shots, while he’s naked as a jaybird, hard as a rock, and not-so-patiently waiting for her to do what she wants to him. Her heated gaze combs over him head-to-toe, surreptitiously licking her lips when her eyes linger between his legs. Matt groans and circles his fingers around his dick, stroking lightly to ease some of the ache. “Stop torturing me, Brett,” he mutters, voice low, only half teasing. “It’s Christmas.” 

A smile curves sinfully up her mouth and she crowds into his space Her hands glide over his shoulders. “Sit,” she orders, pressing down. Matt follows her command and sits on the edge of the mattress. His heart thumps wildly in his chest. He watches in rapt attention as she tosses a pillow to the floor and sinks down on her knees between his legs. She tips her head back to look up at him and the desire burning in her eyes surely is a mirror of his own. “I know how much you like the view when I do this.” Her hands smooth up his thighs and she curls one around his length. “Don’t you?” 

Hell yes! But then she leans in to lick a long, slow stripe up his shaft and words fail him. Her tongue swirls around the tip before taking him into her mouth. Matt blows out a ragged breath, gripping the mattress tightly to keep quiet and not give them away. She works him up slowly, her mouth slick and warm. Wrapping one hand firmly around the base of his dick, she strokes him in tandem with her lips, creating a perfect, continuous slide.

He wants this to last longer than it’s going to, but it feels too good. Already his neck is flushed and his skin feels too tight for his body. He sinks his hands into her hair, to brush it out of her eyes so he can see her face while she takes him deeper and hums around him. “ _Fuck_ , Sylvie,” he pants. “Not gonna last much longer.” 

That only seems to spur her efforts. She cups his balls and gently tugs them down, just the way he loves when he’s nearing the edge. Wrapping her lips tightly around him, she focuses on the head, licking and sucking for all she’s worth. She flicks her eyes up to meet his gaze, maintains it as her cheeks hollow out around his tip and she strokes him hard with her hand to get him across the finish line. It’s a heady sight. And the combination of everything sends his senses into overdrive. Matt’s thighs tremble and he’s so close. _So close_. A few more seconds is all it takes to unravel him entirely. His vision blurs and he groans, coming hot in her mouth. 

Sylvie pulls her mouth off him with an obscene _pop_ that makes his head spin. She leans back on her heels and rests her hands on his thighs, a smile curling over red, plumped lips. _Christ Almighty_ , she’s sexy. It takes him a bit to form words that are more intelligible than _fuck_ and _mine_ , so he breathes through the comedown, stroking his thumb across her cheek. 

Matt grabs her hands to help her up off the floor and wraps his arms around her middle. His head tips back, a sleepy, satisfied grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “ _Holy shit, Sylvie!_ That was... _damn_!” Clearly coherent thought hasn’t returned to him yet. Sylvie lips twist in amusement, looking pleased with herself to have sucked him stupid. God, he loves her. “Come here,” he says, pulling her sideways into his lap and draws her head down for a kiss. He tightens his hold on her and chases the taste of his release in her mouth.

She breaks the kiss first, cooling it down before things can heat up again and get carried away. It’s probably the smartest course of action given that he’d been the one not that long ago pumping the brakes, worried about getting caught. So while he’d love nothing more than to pull her back under the covers with him and strip her down and return the favor, he’s afraid to risk it with another roll of the dice. He shifts gears.

“I have a serious question for you,” he says. 

Sylvie sits up a little straighter in his lap and looks at him expectantly. “You do?” 

Matt nods. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering—is this the standard treatment of guests at the Brett Family Christmas?” 

“Oh.” He doesn’t miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes before she turns her head and huffs out a soft laugh. She combs her fingers through her disheveled hair, smoothing it behind her ear. “Well...you know. Hoosier hospitality and all that,” she answers casually. Turning back and meeting his eyes again, she gives him a soft smile. “But you got the VIP special. Guess it was your lucky night.”

Matt cups her face with both hands, traces her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. “I _am_ lucky, Sylvie Brett.”

The door at the bottom of the stairs opens and Sylvie vaults off his lap faster than he’s ever seen her move. “Sylvie Anne! Are you up here?” Sarah Brett calls up the stairs. 

“Yes! I was just—telling Matt goodnight! Making sure he was comfortable!” Sylvie’s voice is all high pitched, and just shy of squeaky, which if you ask him feels like a dead giveaway that they were up to no good. She whirls around and mouths _Oh my god_ while frantically motioning for him to get dressed as though it’s his fault he’s naked in the first place. It would be hilarious if he weren’t also slightly worried that her dad might actually shoot him or something.

“Matt, honey, did Sylvie give you everything you need?” Sarah asks.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Did her mom really just—ask that question? He angles his head to gauge Sylvie’s reaction. She has one hand clamped over her mouth trying her damndest not to laugh. “Did you give me everything I need?” he whispers. Sylvie glares and throws his discarded underwear at his head. _I will kill you._

“She sure did, Sarah! Thank you,” Matt answers back, biting his lip to keep the laughter at bay. 

“Wonderful! Sleep well and we’ll see you in the morning! Sylvie, it’s late. Get back to your room!”

Sylvie fires off a mock salute that Matt’s pretty sure wouldn’t be amusing to Sarah Brett. He appreciates it though. “Yes, Mom!” Sylvie calls before turning back to face him with a look of incredulity in her eyes. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

Matt grins and tugs his underwear up over his hips. “Me neither.” He steps closer and leans down to filch a quick kiss off her lips. “I love you.”

Her face softens and she smiles up at him. “I love you, too. Okay, gotta go. Goodnight!” With that, she snags the quilt from earlier and hurries down the stairs. 

Later, when Matt once again finds himself staring up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep, he thinks about the important question he wants to ask Sylvie. Not the silly one he’d asked earlier and she’d seemed mildly disappointed by, but the important question he’s been carrying around on the tip of his tongue the last couple months. One that comes with the small velvet box still safely tucked away in the back of their bedroom closet. A question he’s been waiting for the right moment to ask, but something kept holding him back. 

Now that hurdle is clear after a conversation with her dad earlier in the evening. Not that he _needs_ their blessing or permission, per se, but he wants it all the same. It’s important to Sylvie, and more important to him than he realized. It feels good, _really good_ , knowing he has both. 

The right moment isn’t on this trip—public proposals aren’t his style—but it feels closer now than ever before. 

That’s a gift all on its own. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Did you know that for less than a cup of coffee a day, you can leave a comment on fics and help fuel a writer's soul? Feedback is so valuable to us after the time we spend creating and writing. Please save the writers today!


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